Page 48 of Mismatched Mates

He grunted and glanced up from his computer. “How was the wedding?”

“Surprisingly good. No brawls, although I think a few people were tempted. Might even have gone for it if I wasn’t there as thegroom’s sister’s boyfriend.” A position that had been new for me. Until her, I’d never let anyone get close enough to invite me to an important family event—and until her, I’d never wanted to be.

But being there, seeing her beaming with the bride, in a purple bridesmaid dress that dropped all the way to the floor and ruffled around her breasts, had been almost more than I could take.

If it hadn’t been for the boys and the distraction they’d provided, I’d have fixated over not being part of the photographs, even though logic told me there was a very good reason for it.

“You didn’t break things off with her?”

I frowned. “No. Why would I?”

He finally turned the screen to face me. “Because she might have something to say about this.”

He slid a set of glossy photographs across the polished surface of his desk. My stomach did a nosedive as I recognized myself in the images, with a woman I could barely even remember. We were holding hands, and in one of the pictures, we were kissing. The headline screamed about my new girl, but all I could see were my lips locked against hers. Sirens went off in my head.

I couldn’t even remember her name.

We’d datedmonthsago, gone out maybe once or twice, before we’d mutually agreed to end things where they were. I hadn’t so much as thought about her in probably close to eight months, and certainly not after meeting Jane.

Shit.

"Care to explain?" Father's voice was deceptively calm, like the stillness before a storm. “I asked you to keep your nose clean,” he said. “I told you to date this girl and not to get involved with anyone else. To respect the family and what we’re trying to achieve.”

“You don’t seriously believe I did this.”

I grabbed another photo, pointing to a detail in the background. "Look, see that billboard? It's advertising a movie that came out five years ago. These aren't recent. “They’re claiming I saw her yesterday, but I washomeall yesterday evening. This is bullshit.”"

He glanced at the photo, his expression unchanged. "Even if that's true, Grant?—"

“This happenedagesago.” I skimmed the article, fingers curling into a fist at the blatant lies.

He slammed a hand on the table, making me jump. “The timeline doesn’t matter. It’s all about perception. And right now, you are a liability we can’t afford.”

I shook my head, reaching in my pocket for my phone. Jane. Jane would think this was true. I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about the rest of the world, but Jane needed to know I hadn’t done this. That whatever we were building—whatever the hell that was—was real.

“Don’t you dare,” he snapped. “Don’t you dare walk out of this room. That’s an order, Grant. As your alpha.”

My spine locked. There were two conflicting tugs inside me—one telling me to leave, and the other to stay. Jane and Vince. If I left, I would risk my tenuous position in the pack, in the company, and the family.

If I stayed and didn’t explain myself, I was risking losing Jane.

“Father,” I said, turning back to face him. The truth had chased me down, and there was nowhere left to run. Nowhere to go but acceptance.

And there was only one place I needed to be.

“There’s something you don’t know about Jane and me.”

JANE

The harsh glow of my phone cast shadows across my tear-streaked face, illuminating the damning evidence of Grant's betrayal. There he was, lips locked with some nameless woman, the image seared into my retinas like a brand. I wanted to hurl the phone across the room, but my fingers wouldn't let go.

Downstairs, the cheerful voices of cartoon characters drifted up from the living room where my boys sat, blissfully unaware of their mother's world imploding. I tried to latch onto that sliver of normalcy, but failed.

"I should have known better," I muttered, pressing the cold screen to my forehead. "Way to go, Jane. You really picked a winner this time."

My thoughts spiraled, a dizzying carousel of self-recrimination and what-ifs. The lavender candle I'd lit earlier in a pitiful attempt at zen now mocked me from the nightstand, its sickly-sweet scent cloying in the air.

I should have known better.

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